"Yo, JanKu, man, time to wrap it up!" I called out, my voice echoing a bit too loudly in the sudden silence. He always left it all on the boards, that boy. Pure dedication. Not like those other prima donnas the music industry churned out.
JanKu, with his messy blonde hair and those bright blue eyes that could make a grandma blush, offered a sheepish grin. "Just one more track, Big Tim? I promise, this one's gonna be legendary."
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Don't you always say that? Manager's orders, man. Besides, you gotta save some of that magic for the Grammy's next week, right?"
He laughed, that easy, carefree laugh that had half the world singing along to his tunes. "Right, right. Grammy's. Gotta keep the people happy."
He started packing up, a whirlwind of controlled chaos as always. Kid was a walking contradiction - white as a snowdrift in an industry full of melanin, but he was the most down-to-earth, generous soul you ever met. Always pushing for diversity, donating his money to causes, using his platform to lift others up.
He flashed that megawatt smile one last time as he headed for the exit. "See you tomorrow, Big Tim! Keep the beats bumpin'!"
I watched him through the security cameras as he walked down the street, whistling along to some tune in his head, probably already working on his next hit.
Then the sky ripped open.
It wasn't thunder, not like any storm I'd ever seen. A blinding spear of white-hot energy, thicker than a sequoia, slammed down from the heavens, engulfing JanKu in its fury. No explosion, no sound, just a sudden, terrifying flash of light, and then... silence.
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The cameras went dead.
My hand trembled as I reached for the phone, cold dread gripping me like a vise.
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The first sensation that assaulted me wasn't pain, but a burning, acrid stench. Like overcooked meat mixed with the sharp tang of lightning. My eyes snapped open, but the world swam before me in a dizzying blur of gold and crimson.
Groaning, I tried to sit up, my limbs heavy and uncooperative. My head throbbed with a dull ache, a symphony of agony playing behind my eyes.
Where...where the hell was I?
This wasn’t my studio. This wasn't even Earth, if the ornate screens depicting fantastical landscapes and the silk-draped furniture were anything to go by.
Panic tightened its icy grip around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs.
Fragments of memories, alien and unwelcome, slammed into me, each one a fresh wave of nausea.
A sneering face in a bronze mirror, handsome in a cruel, predatory way. Hands, not my own, calloused and stained with something that made my stomach churn. And a name…
Jang.
Waste of the Ku Clan. A title spat like a curse, laced with venomous disdain.
I lurched to my feet, stumbling over silk robes that felt as foreign as the memories flooding my mind.
Murders, casual cruelty, a life lived in the pursuit of selfish pleasure… it was all there, a grotesque tapestry woven into the fabric of my very being.
This wasn’t me. It couldn’t be. I was JanKu, the kid who spent his nights crafting music and his days trying to make the world a slightly better place.
A choked sob escaped my lips as the horrifying truth settled in, cold and inescapable as a tomb.
I was dead.
And somehow, I was also this…this monster. This Jang.
"FUCK!"
The word echoed in the opulent chamber, a desperate plea against a fate far crueler, far more twisted than any nightmare I could have ever imagined.
"FUCK!" The word ripped from my throat again, less a curse and more a primal scream of frustration. It was official: I was trapped in the body of the human equivalent of a dumpster fire.
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